


Updraft

by MessOfCurls



Series: Wax and Wane [4]
Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Absent Parents, Best Friends, Bipolar Disorder, Blankets, Bromance, Climbing Class, Couch Cuddles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Hugs, Insomnia, M/M, Medication, Mental Health Issues, Pre-Game(s), Pre-Slash, Protective Siblings, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Sibling Bonding, Slow Burn, Teen Angst, Teenagers, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 12:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6704719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MessOfCurls/pseuds/MessOfCurls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josh's therapy sessions aren't going as well as he thinks...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Song recs:  
> Turn it Up - Robots in disguise  
> Ghouls - We Are Scientists

Beth rolled over in the dark and pulled the thin comforter up over her head. She’d tried to ignore it at first, hoping the regularity of the persistent tapping would help her to sleep through it. But then it would falter. Pause. Stop. Then resume just as insistent as before.

She sat up and looked at the wall clock, night-trained eyes just about making out its hands. 

4.25 a.m.

Kicking off the comforter, she left the room and turned just in time to see another figure emerging into the corridor. Hannah - dressed in nightclothes, her eyes strangely small without her glasses - gave Beth a tired look through the darkness, frayed at the edges with exasperation. The pair hadn’t had much sleep the past few nights, but any potential irritation at the source remained unvoiced, the cause of it understood, expressed instead as a gentle, weary understanding.

“Your turn.” Hannah said quietly, “Definitely your turn.”

Beth opened her mouth to protest, but it never came. She gave her twin a tired nod and watched Hannah retreat to her room, the bedroom door clicking softly closed behind her.

The three siblings had their own bedrooms, the twins having claimed one each when they hit their teens, replacing bunk beds with their own treasure troves and identities. The entire east side of the top floor was theirs. It made for great nights with their mutual friends, but it was times like this - these late night awakenings, and on a school night no less - that made Beth wish, just briefly, that the rooms were a little more spread out.

She pushed the selfish thought away, feeling guilty for letting it cross her mind. He couldn’t help it.

Not fully awake, but not quite asleep, Beth walked the few steps to her brother’s door and pushed it open without resistance. Of all the bedrooms it was the only one without a lock.

The lights were off in Josh’s room, but the artificial glow of the three computer monitors stung her eyes for a moment. Grizzly movie posters were made all the more sinister in the gloom and the corners of the room were shrouded in darkness, home to strange shadows made from the piles of clothes on the floor and the comforter twisted on the empty bed. She was met by his silhouette at the desk, his back to her as the monitors flickered before him. The tinny sound of the music playing in his large headphones - a recent impulse purchase - was audible now, but was nothing compared to the relentless tapping of Josh’s sneaker-clad foot on the leg of the desk.

“Josh?”

He was oblivious to her presence; too busy scrolling down a webpage, eyes trained on the small text.

Beth approached slowly. "Josh?"

Still no reply.

With a gentle hand on the shoulder, she roused him. He didn't jump in shock, instead turning to her slowly as if coming out of a trance. Josh slipped his headphones down around his neck and the music grew a little louder, the singer's vocals audible now over the bass. The tapping stopped.

"Hey...?"

"Hey." Beth replied softly as Josh turned down the volume. "You're doing it again."

"I am?"

"Yeah." she said patiently, wearing a weary smile. It was hard to be mad at Josh when he was giving her that apologetic look. "Have you seen the time?"

Josh glanced at the clock on his monitor. "I had no idea." And then his focus was elsewhere, her presence gradually losing his attention, her brother clearly distracted by other thoughts. He turned back to the screens. "But it's good stuff." He nodded to himself, "Good stuff..." he trailed off distractedly.

"Are you alright?" she pried after a long moment.

"Bee, I'm fine, okay?"

But he didn't look fine. He looked sallow in the artificial light of the screens with his eyes wide awake despite the unacknowledged exhaustion marking them. Harsh and sickly. This was the side of her brother that few got to see. To the outside world he was Josh, with the occasional tick and the odd bad day, but times like this behind closed doors, he didn't seem quite so...

_Normal._

She smothered the thought. That word.

“Okay.” Beth conceded, knowing she would get little more from him. She gave his shoulder a squeeze before retreating, stepping over and between the assorted mess of obstacles littering the floor.

“Bee?”

She glanced back over her shoulder, unsure if he’d actually spoken. He was looking at her now, chair turned around just enough to acknowledge her.

“Sorry for keeping you up."

She exhaled through a grateful smile. “Night, J.”

And then the headphones were back on, the conversation ended as her brother lost himself in whatever consumed him this time round.

With her head on the pillow, Beth felt herself begin to doze. But the respite was short-lived, the tapping through the walls returning some ten minutes later. Screwing her eyes shut and burying her head under the pillow, one thought dominated her sleep-addled brain. 

It was definitely Hannah’s turn.

~*~

“And I know it might seem like I’m taking advantage of my dad’s connections, but wouldn’t it be shooting myself in the foot to ignore them? I mean, those are good connections. _Very_ good connections. It’s like, cutting off my nose to spite my face or something, you know?”

Josh exhaled through a broad grin, satisfied, his mind and mouth already racing forward without him. “I’m not a spoilt little rich kid. I’d do it on my own, but it seems stupid not to use them, right? There are grants out there; crowdfunding, kickstarters, all kinds of options, and I’ve learned a _lot_. You could test me, I know the genre inside out, and I’m getting to grips with the industry too, seeing how it works.”

“And the leading man?” He pointed both thumbs at his chest, “Yours truly.” His gaze went skywards for a moment as he considered it. “Well, _maybe_. But can you imagine it? A real feature film, with all of us in it. Oh, I don’t expect it to be a blockbuster, or maybe I wouldn’t go the mainstream route. Not. At. First.” he said forcefully, punctuating each word with the side of his hand on the arm of the leather chair, “Maybe start with an indie flick, right? Get it out there on the festival circuit, see if it gets any bites. _Then_ we go big.”

He looked at her expectantly as his enthusiasm was met with a silence that filled the large office.

Dr North’s manicured hands, which had been loosely clasped together in quiet patience atop her notebook till now, found the arms of her own significantly more expensive chair. 

“This is a safe space, Joshua.” she began slowly, “You said before that you sometimes feel like you need to fill silences, or be ‘switched on’, as you put it. You don’t need to do that here.” She gave him a soft, slight smile. “You can be yourself.”

“I thought I _was_ being…” He shook his head irritably, shaking away the spike of impatience. He smiled, thin-lipped, annoyance fading as quickly as it had flared. “Okay.”

“Good.” She clasped her hands again and flexed her ankle, the toe of one kitten heel stopping to point at the carpet. “You also explained that sometimes the thoughts you have can be overwhelming, and we discussed ways to avoid and cope with situations and ideas that make you feel that way.”

Josh nodded, jaw working at a well-chewed wad of gum. The subject had come up in their third session, nearly two months ago, just after a particularly bad episode.

“Do you feel that way now?”

“No.” Josh replied wearily.

“Okay.”

He watched her jot something in her notebook.

Dr North had become his latest therapist some three months ago, when his last two - a rather fusty older man called Dr Purkiss and the ever-so-charming Dr Williams - had recommended her before moving across the country to start her own practice. She was his fourth in all (fourth time’s a charm!) and so far it hadn’t been too painful. The first sessions were a transitional, rather tedious exercise in recapping and getting to know each other, but from what he’d learned about her from Google searches, she was well-known and respected in her field. A specialist in adolescent psychology and substance abuse, apparently, with more than a few published papers to her name.

As for the doctor as a person?

Josh watched her tuck an errant strand of brown hair behind her ear.

She was attractive enough, but in that rather detached, older woman sort of way. She was in her early forties, but kept herself in shape as far as he could tell. Married, if the wedding band was anything to go by. Freshly cut shoulder length hair, not dyed. Manicured nails. Snappy suit dress and blazer combo. He could take it or leave it.

Finished, she closed the notebook.

“How are your friends?”

He knew this tack: lighten the tone, put him at ease, and help him relax.

Catch him off guard.

And yet, he wasn’t so adverse to it today. Fine. He’d bite.

“They’re good. Well.” he corrected himself.

That much was true. The last few weeks had been good. He’d been out a lot spending more time with the few guys and girls in his class who had time for him. There had been little dramas here and there, but thankfully none that he was directly involved in. Besides, he’d been busy with his own plans. He’d show the others eventually, but what good was it tasting a half-baked cake?

“They’re well.” he confirmed, and left it at that.

“Good.” Dr North paused, brushing some imaginary dust from her dress and sitting up a little straighter. “Now, I have to ask you something that might make you feel uncomfortable. Is that alright?”

_Here it comes._

Josh shrugged. “Does it matter either way?”

She smiled patiently and pressed on. "Have you seen anything, Joshua?"

The question was innocent enough, but the connotations within this office only meant one thing.

“You mean have I seen anything that isn’t there?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you think I would’ve mentioned that? I--” he paused, face creasing with frustration and voice laced with exasperation, “How would I even know?”

“Okay. Have you experienced anything that you suspect isn’t actually happening?” she calmly rephrased the question.

“No.”

“Alright.” She jotted something in her notebook, satisfied. “That’s very good to know. Thank you.”

“Yeah…” he sighed, fingers picking at the armrest.

Baby steps and kid gloves. Some sessions she would delve right into his head and prod and probe, but today she was being more cautious, if he was reading her correctly. He wasn’t sure why, but this approach made him feel uneasy. At least he knew where he stood when she was being direct. He chewed absently on his thumbnail, barely noticing as a strip of skin came away with what little nail remained, his attention then returning to the gum resting between his molars.

Referring to her notes, Dr North broached her next question. "Last time we discussed your triggers and how important it is to establish a good sleeping pattern and a predictable routine.” She cleared her throat. “Your mother tells me that she's concerned about your sleeping patterns. Do you feel like you’ve been sleeping enough?”

Josh exhaled loudly. Of _course_ his mother had said something. She loved involving herself and putting a red flag on anything that might be just a little out of the ordinary. She worried too much. And so here they were again, treading the same old ground. Last session. In the past. You said before.

“I can’t force myself to sleep.” He gave her a tight smile. “Besides, sleeping pills made me sick last time, remember?” He smirked. “Check your notes.”

“I remember.” She removed her glasses thoughtfully. “Do you remember what I said? About sleep deprivation being not just a symptom, but also a trigger?”

Josh waved away the comment, his gaze on the carpet. “Yeah, sure.”

Stress management and coping mechanisms. Seemingly endless stacks of half-finished mood journals. Sleep patterns and predictable daily routines. He was well-versed in social rhythm therapy, thank you very much.

The silence opened up again. Josh shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Is something troubling you?”

He exhaled loudly again. The chair was too damn stiff. It had no give in it at all. How was he supposed to get comfortable? 

“No.” he replied shortly.

“I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me.” she stated, her voice softening in an attempt to coax a little more trust from him.

But it failed.

“Honestly? I’m starting to feel antagonised.” he said, meeting her eyes, feeling bold enough to lean forward in his chair, “So what if I’m not sleeping much? I don’t need to. I’m not tired.”

She was beginning to make him feel like a petulant child pleading with his mother to let him stay up past his bedtime. The thought made an unpleasant knot tighten in his gut and darkened his expression. “It’s fine.” he said coldly, crossing his arms as he looked out of the window.

Dr North wore her poker face well, but he noticed the slight hint of a thought pass behind her eyes. Whatever. She could think what she liked. He was fine. Sure, he wasn’t sleeping as much as other people, but he wasn’t feeling that particular need. What good was it lying there in the dark for hours when he could be doing something productive?

And it was _such_ a good idea. His friends would totally flip out. And the beauty of it was that it wasn't unachievable, and he could custom write it so everyone had a role. Nobody would be left out.

He realised belatedly that she was watching him again. How long had he fallen silent for?

"I'm sorry. I--" 

"No apologies required in here." she said reassuringly, "Our talks are for you."

Perhaps she wasn't so bad. Maybe. But if he was honest, he'd rather be anywhere else right now. Somewhere alone, to mull over the many thoughts vying for his attention. 

"I'm not really feeling it today." he admitted.

"No?"

"No... I--"

A harsh buzz interrupted him. Dr North glanced over at her desk. The little red bulb on the intercom was lit up.

"Please, continue."

Before Josh could say a word, the intercom buzzed again, twice. 

"Excuse me." she said apologetically, getting to her feet and walking to the desk. With her back to Josh, she pressed the button and spoke quietly, "I'm with a patient."

"I'm so sorry to interrupt, but it's urgent."

"Urgent?"

"Mister Brustman is on line one. His daughter...” came the tinny response from her PA, and the lack of elaboration coupled with Dr North’s reaction signaled the gravity of such a seemingly asinine statement.

Dr North paused uncertainly. “...I’ll be right through.”

She turned back to him. “I’m very sorry, Joshua. I have to take this call.” she looked distracted, then composed herself. “Please take this time for some quiet introspection. I…” She smiled. “I’ll be back shortly.”

And then she was gone, the large wooden door to her office closing behind her with a certain finality.

Josh slouched down in the increasingly uncomfortable chair and let his eyes roam around the office. It was fairly minimal. A lonely yucca beside the window. No artwork on the walls. Two large bookcases flanked the doctor’s desk, leaving just enough wall space between them to showcase an array of framed diplomas. However, the few items furnishing the room screamed their expense. He could certainly see where his parents’ money had gone.

His mind threatened to wander again.

Quiet introspection, huh?

He wrinkled his nose. The gum had lost its flavour a long while back, reduced to a rather sad inconvenience. He scanned the room and spotted a simple black wastebasket beside the desk. Stretching his arms up above his head to unknot his shoulders, he got to his feet and spat the gum into his hand before dropping it in the trash.

University of California. The American Board of Psychiatry and Neurology. Subspeciality in Addiction Psychology. Stanford University Medical Center. Scholar in Psychiatry.

Josh read the diplomas on the wall then leaned against the desk, bored. His fingers brushed against leather. He looked down.

Her notebook, beneath his fingertips.

He glanced at the door.

_What do you care?_

Perhaps some other time he’d be somewhat more apprehensive, but it didn’t seem to matter. What was the worst that could happen?

He listened for footsteps. Nothing.

The notes were about him anyway. What’s the very worst she could do about it?

_Fuck it, do it. Go for it._

Picking up the book, he perched on the edge of the desk, the backs of his thighs pressing against it through his jeans. The cliché about doctors’ handwriting didn’t apply in her case. Clear, concise sentences and bullet points marked the paper. He flicked through the pages until he found the most recent entry, neatly marked with that day’s date in the upper right corner.

**Joshua Washington - Session Eight**

Yeah, this seemed about right. He skimmed the fragmented notes, tripping over the words and having to reread them several times. For all the writing she seemed to do in their sessions, there was very little there, but it said enough.

 **Has started another project**  
**Increased sense of grandiosity**  
**Rapid cycling? Potential progression from hypomania to mania?**  
**Fast thoughts/speech**  
**Inflated self-esteem**  
**Recommendation: Lithobid - increase 300mg 3x per day to 900mg 3x per day - temp to perm measure**

He felt sick.

Another increase? Sure, today hadn’t gone as well as perhaps it could have, but had it gone _that_ badly? In a perverse way, it felt like he’d been lied to. Betrayed. Almost like he was being punished for feeling good. She thanked him and reassured him, all the while scribbling her stupid fucking suggestions in her little book. Increased sense of grandiosity? Inflated self-esteem? When did self-esteem become a bad thing? What did...

The desire to fling the book across the room was strong, but he managed to restrain himself. Instead, he reached into his pocket and switched on his phone. Once powered on, he opened the camera and took a photo of the offending page. He didn’t know why, but it felt like the right thing to do, like he was catching the lie. Owning it.

Where the fuck did she get off putting labels on things? Labels, labels, always labels. It seemed unfair that the slightest outburst - the kind that coming from any other boy his age would be dismissed as a teen tantrum - was picked apart and analysed like a crime scene.

He dropped the notebook on the desk and began to pace, too wrapped up in a tangle of unpleasant emotions to notice he was even doing it. He took a deep breath, fists balling up.

She didn’t get it. That was the problem. She wasn’t properly understanding him. If he could get his point across, she’d _get_ it. She wasn’t hearing him.

_“You will never be well or cured, Joshua. But we can help you live a normal life. Manage. Cope.”_

“Shut up…” he spat angrily at the memory.

Dr Purkiss had been honest with him that day, hadn’t he? The killer of all hope. What a cheery old man. His parents had liked him though, hadn’t they?

He laughed bitterly.

_Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t even matter. Don’t think about it. Don’t._

When Dr North eventually returned, Josh was standing by the window, looking out at the traffic far below. With another apology and a promise of a longer session next time (please apologise to your mother for me), they returned to their seats.

Sitting down once more, Josh felt strangely calm. He knew now. He knew where they stood, what the little smiles meant. But she didn’t know that. Now he had the advantage.

Dr North checked her watch. “Is there anything else you would like to talk about today before our session ends?”

He pondered the question. “I dreamed I cut off my fingers with scissors. Thumb and pinky.” He mimed scissors with his index and middle fingers, cutting the air, tired eyes lighting up. “Snip snip. Didn’t hurt.” He leaned back nonchalantly in his chair and a thin, unpleasant smile spread across his face. “What does _that_ mean, Freud?”

~*~

The traffic passed by the car window in one long, ignored blur. The air conditioning was irritatingly loud, but Josh had managed to drown it out.

“How was it today?”

_So many questions. Always questions._

He didn’t even bother to look at his mother from the front passenger seat, temple pressed against the window. “I don’t have to talk about it. We agreed.”

“I...”

There was an anxious pause. Urgh, it was almost worse than the prying.

“It was fine.” he replied as levelly as he could. Thankfully, it seemed to appease her.

As they stopped at a set of lights, his phone vibrated against his leg. Since turning it back on, it had buzzed several times, but he hadn’t bothered to check it. He took it out. Nineteen notifications from one conversation. There were a lot of conversation threads there, the others quiet for now. This one had just three members. He opened it.

  
  


Josh’s thumb hovered over the keyboard. He would do anything right now to escape the mood that had swallowed him up. He could go along and sit as a silent third wheel, letting himself become engrossed in the flashing images and outdated special effects. He could use the friendly voices. He could use the distraction. Needed it, almost. But he couldn’t face it. It seemed impossible.

No, he would go home and bury himself in the project. Even thinking about it was helping. Yes, he’d do that. Go home and throw himself at it.

Barely five seconds passed before the replies began to arrive.

Josh sighed as the anxiety threatened to bubble up too high.

No.

Nope.

He felt shitty for it, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. He forced himself to add one last comment.

There was a significantly longer pause before the next batch of replies.

“Do you want to pick up some food on the way home?”

“I’m not hungry.” Josh replied vaguely, shoving the phone back in his pocket, gaze drifting to the outside world once more.

An anxious frown graced his mother’s face as the car sped on, leaving the city and the doctor’s office behind them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh's absence from school leads to a house call from his best bud. But Chris has problems all his own.

So, it’d only been a couple of days since he’d come sauntering into class to a conspicuously empty seat, and Hannah wearing the kind of quietly troubled expression which clung to her with almost tangible visibility. Josh was ‘sick’ according to the standardized excuses of his parents, relayed with disinterest by their homeroom teacher. He’d been ‘sick’ since most of them could remember, and most didn’t even care to keep track of those rare occasions when the eldest of the Washington siblings actually attended class for long enough to attempt something approaching catch up. He could go months at a stretch, making hay under the sun of fickle good times, only to vanish for equally as long - returned dead-eyed and listless until the gentle insistence of his small circle of friends roused him back to life as a functional human being. 

Sometimes he acted as if it was bewildering that any of them were still waiting on him. That any of them still cared enough to offer kind words, to instigate jokes which worked their way to the sense of humour which lurked beneath layers of hurt and medication. For the most part, Josh Washington was a collection of parts, churning away to stitch themselves back together under the guise of his own understated charm, and wit. 

And it was that determination which had Sam meticulously copying out her notes from Chem for him. She’d nudged the elbow of the teen sitting beside her as he whited out another mistake in his English lit notes, a half-smile warming the air between them. It might not be the grandest of gestures, but between them they could at least do this for him. 

Chris’ own fondness for Joshua left him standing upon the doorstep of the Washington’s less than modest townhouse, homework in hand, and entire body braced for what this latest round of illness might’ve wrought upon his best friend. Things which couldn’t be communicated by text messages, or emails. The painful reality of it all. 

Sometimes Josh longed – no, needed – to bury himself in the dark solitude of his room, away from the confusing incessant noise of others. But this time was different. He felt more comfortable in the large family room opening onto the kitchen, in the middle of things with the sounds of life going on as normal around him. He watched his sisters talk and gossip, perched at the breakfast bar before school. He saw their maid, Rosa, cleaning the house, unfazed by his presence, greeting him each day with a cheery “Good morning, Mister Joshua” and a pitying look. 

But now - right now - he was alone. 

His father was out of town in Seattle preparing for the upcoming Screamfest film festival, and his mother, though technically unemployed, kept a busy enough schedule that she was out most days, just a speed dial away. 

But the house had sounds all its own. Not the creaking of aged floorboards or the groan of contracting wooden beams, though just as mundane. The gentle hum of the sub-zero refrigerator, the whisper of the air conditioning and the fleeting sound of a passing car all helped to ground him, to include him and distract him from the drone that had taken up residence in his head. Not that he really noticed it much anymore, drowsy as he was. 

He’d been dozing, eyes half-lidded with his cheek pressed to the couch cushion for most of the day, inadvertently watching the DVD menu loop infinitely on the eighty five inch TV screen, the same classic jump scare repeating so many times that it had lost impact, and the 1940s starlet’s frightened expression made comical by the sideways angle. The movie had ended a while ago, but he hadn’t thought to change it or hit the off button on the remote resting in the crook of his arm, held loosely to his chest like a strange comfort object. 

It wasn’t entirely unexpected. It always happened when they ‘made an adjustment’ to his treatment, the most recent change implemented just over a fortnight ago. The first week of transition went better than anticipated. He was his old self. He was happy. He was _good._ Functioning, Dr North observed in her detached, clinical way. 

_Mood stabilisers deployed, Captain. We’re taking her in to land!_

He made a dumb, lazy sound in his throat, almost like a laugh. 

This week had been more… challenging. Stomach cramps and night sweats were the first course in a banquet of shitty side effects. When those pains passed, the flu-like aches began, and with them the droning fog descended and settled between his ears, rendering him useless. 

Hannah and Beth gently asked if he felt well enough for school, but as Monday became Tuesday became Wednesday, the question became a simple kiss on the forehead or an affectionate rustling of hair before they went out into the world without him. They returned in the evenings and sometimes sat with him for a little while, until other commitments took them elsewhere. 

Compared to what had come before, today was a relatively good day. He’d even managed to shower that morning. It was a little victory. 

Josh shifted under the sleeping bag and squinted, his eyes focusing for the first time in a while. 

It was too early for his mother's return, or at least it _felt_ too early. It was difficult to tell with the blinds drawn. Rosa was long gone. It could have been the twins, but he hadn’t heard a car pull up. 

He listened. He knew those footsteps, that gait. 

Josh sat up slowly, whole body sluggish. He wasn't dressed for company, but that didn’t bother him much right now. His tartan pyjama pants – a little snugger in recent months despite missed meals – and old band t-shirt formed the staples of his lounging attire. He let his head settle before getting to his feet. The sleeping bag slithered to the floor in his wake. 

Barefoot, he padded over to the intercom. Sure enough, Chris was on the doorstep, his grainy black and white image warped by the fisheye lens. Even at this angle, Josh noticed the subtle hint of concern marring his best friend's brow while he lingered by the door, perhaps deciding whether to bother ringing the bell at all. 

Josh’s finger hovered over the intercom. His mouth was dry. Perhaps... perhaps Chris would leave? Did he _want_ him to leave? 

His arm dropped to his side. Ugh, he was _so thirsty._

Limbs gradually waking, Josh walked to the front door, knuckling a bleary eye with one hand. He cocked his head to one side as he opened the door, his lips forming a smile that was just a fraction too tight for comfort. 

“Hey, man.”

The sight of his best friend compelled Chris to at least attempt to wipe the look off of his face which implied he was about five seconds away from calling Beth, the cops, the whole flipping army just in case Josh had gone and tumbled down the stairs. Or fallen prey to one of a few thousand scenarios his overly enthusiastic imagination decided to parade around at the forefront of his mind whenever it was placed into a situation such as this. 

A huffed gust of breath was passed off as simple relief, and coupled with one of his crooked grins it just about plastered over the acute depth of worry both himself and Sam were capable of feeling for him. 

“Chips, soda, cookies, and uh…..homework. Pick your poison, bro.” 

At least three out of four were tailored to lifting Josh’s mood - old favourites whose purchase at the nearest seven-eleven had gone beyond mere habit. The path to the Washington’s lavish home simply wasn’t complete without them. Almost in the same way it hadn’t been quite the sum of its parts without Josh ambling along beside him, effervescent with chatter about his Dad’s latest gore-soaked projects, or his theories about a myriad of plot holes which pock marked the last film they’d watched together. Listening to him was never a chore, and the deafening silence left in his wake couldn’t be filled with any number of iPod playlists, or mindless daydreams. 

He looked hollowed out now; in ways which manifested a faint tightening in Chris’ chest. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight, but the impact of it remained subtle and just as awful as ever. Nothing about it was easily mended. Nothing about it was fair. 

For now he jangled the carrier loaded with calories and crumpled papers, waving it enticingly whilst taking a couple of tentative steps closer to the grand threshold of where Josh called home. Heck, if he wasn’t feeling up to company, and merely took the dime-store offerings presented to him, leaving Chris standing on the doorstep with only his worries for company then it’d almost be alright. Mike had chastised him, both in heated whispers, and blatant arguments, for playing the protector - a safety net Josh didn’t need. A home away from home, for all the things which caused him to depend upon a cocktail of drugs just to make it into a few lectures each week. 

But, it was at times like these that Chris felt himself thinking most resolutely that Mike could go fuck himself. 

Josh blinked, dark green eyes slow and vague as he processed the offer, keeping a grip on the door to anchor himself. He hadn’t eaten much these past few days, partly due to a lack of desire to and partly from the assumption that, based on past experience, he wouldn’t be able to keep it down. But he’d managed half a bowl of cereal post-shower with no adverse reaction. That boded well.

The muted pang of anxiety he’d felt standing at the intercom threatened to resurface as the silence stretched out just a little too long, but with the slightest coaxing rise of Chris’ eyebrow, it waned. He watched the rustling bag blankly for a moment longer, already knowing the purchases his friend had made without having to see them. They were suckers for the old favourites.

It didn’t matter what was in the bag.

Heavy-eyed, Josh ran a hand through his hair, lightly scraping his scalp with blunt fingernails, and instinctively matched Chris’ smile, though it was a pale imitation. He reached into the carrier, his overly warm fingers finding the cold, familiar shape of a soda can. Without thinking, he held it to his neck.

“I could be persuaded.”

He stepped aside, back pressed against the now fully opened door and fumbled with the ring pull, then took a long, greedy gulp from the can, his Adam’s apple bobbing along the taut length of his throat.

God, that was so much better.

With a subtle gesture with his chin toward the hallway beyond, he invited Chris inside. The faint smile returned.

“Step into my office.”

Normally he’d turn and walk ahead of his friend, leaving the door open and talking over his shoulder at him, trusting that Chris would be just a few steps behind. But something made him linger in the doorway, half-empty can in hand. He needed to see - to know - that Chris was coming inside.

Josh shrugged and looked down at his feet, suddenly unsure of himself, before adding, “Free house.”

The necessity of treading on eggshells in Josh’s presence was something Chris had always been acutely aware not only annoyed the older boy, but plucked at the snarl of insecurities that resided in corners of his head which deserved nothing but contented thoughts. They were the same worries which had plagued him before he learned to let them go, like so many pages torn out of a book. Only within Josh each concern was amplified to such a degree that it drowned out all the minor pleasures that should have filled the days of his teenage years. 

Being around him shouldn’t have represented the tight-rope walk it did to those who considered themselves friends, or even acquaintances whose lack of compassion or simple bewilderment had driven them back into such roles. He was worth more than carefully thought out sympathies, and arm’s length care. That much was apparent to his sisters, even if their own busy lives kept them from devoting an excess of time to his well-being. It was enough that through it all even onlookers could tell that the Washington siblings had each other’s backs out of more than mere familial duty. 

“Sheesh, you’re a hard sell today, dude.” The quip tumbled lightly off of his tongue, just as it should’ve, and when Josh’s expression faltered around the edges with a hint of tired humour a whole world of warmth bloomed in the pit of his stomach. The little things were what amounted to his own brand of ‘helping out’ when Josh was at his lowest ebb. 

A hand warmed across the sharp curve of Josh’s shoulder accompanied the faintest of coaxings, pushing Josh towards the crux of the hallway. Everything within the house towed the line between lavish and kitsch - opulent furnishings, and top of the line electronics interspersed with the bold colours of framed movie posters that depicted every blood splattered inch of his family’s craft. A kind of nerd paradise made homely by the younger members who inhabited it. (Even if Hannah was prone to wrinkling her nose, and looking away from some of the less tasteful scenes splashed across their otherwise pristine walls). 

From the looks of things he’d been holed up on the sofa in a rare afternoon spent away from the solitary haven his bedroom represented. Chris couldn’t count the number of times one of his regular visits had taken a different route. One where a closed door was his only greeting, and the shadows huddled up on Josh’s bed barely stirred as he placed the week’s homework along with a fresh bag of cookies, or a lurid B-movie from the local Walmart’s bargain bin upon his bedside table. The times when he stood in precarious silence, gauging with apt caution to see if Josh was truly asleep before perching upon the edge of his mattress. In those moments he’d murmur a few of the things which remained unspoken between them, as if they might change the ebb and flow of whatever nightmares Josh was being subjected to on this regime of drugs and therapy. 

However, today marked a strange, but not unwelcome tangent. The happiness of which was bright in his eyes, and tugging at each generously given smile as he let Josh decide where they ended up. 

Reassured, Josh let himself be corralled back into the house. A brief lull in his train of thought saw his legs working automatically, leading him back to the couch he’d found refuge on for the best part of a week.

_Returning to Headquarters._

He made a short, awkward sound of amusement deep in his throat.

Belatedly he realised the lights were off, the room lit solely by the glow of the TV. Had it been that way all day? Changing course, he went to the wall and flicked the switch for the up-lights above the bookcases flanking the large screen. The room wasn’t a mess, but it had been well-lived in. His laptop, unused for days, sat closed amid stacks of DVDs – some free from their cases - on the large wooden coffee table. The couch cushions had been rearranged for comfort, taking on the vague impressions made by its last occupant. It could be worse.

Then, a fleeting glance at the blinds.

A tiny internal struggle threatened to erupt, working its way into a knot that made him wince. His defences muffled by medication, he lost the battle with little resistance. The blinds were just too far away.

Stepping on and over the sleeping bag, he sat down heavily at the far end of the couch and propped himself up in the corner with one leg stretched out, the other grounded on the floor.

_Mission accomplished._

Another soft, clumsy noise of mirth that quickly died.

Feeling strangely self-conscious, Josh looked down at the soda can cradled in his hands, then chanced an upward glance at Chris, neck aching slightly with the effort. His entire body felt so stiff and unused. He swallowed. Sniffed.

“How’s the rest of the world?”

As soon he asked, his gut tightened. But a smile, a little half-hearted now, stayed in place. Those words summed it up nicely. The rest of the world.

Remembering himself, he patted the back of the couch with a lazy palm, inviting much needed company.

_Not half as fun without you out in it._

Having kicked off his sneakers somewhere between the front door, and the living room (with the kind of careless abandon he’d never demonstrate were either of Josh’s parents’ home), Chris wasted no time in padding his sock-smothered feet over to the sofa. It felt natural even after another period of protracted absence, just to flop down into the curious arrangement of cushions and make the comfortable space his own. 

“Same old, same old. Nothing of note unless you consider Mike’s love life interesting.” His grin was offered freely, effervescent with something akin to sarcasm. After all, it seemed like not a day could go by without someone’s ex-boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend’s sister causing some kind of soap opera melodrama. More often than not it’d be one or two of their friends at the centre of the maelstrom. They’d often be sitting on the side-lines, metaphorically munching their way through the world’s largest tub of popcorn whilst chaos rained down from all sides. High school level hysterics, which never ceased to amuse. Especially not when Josh was upon rare form, his quiet asides leaving Chris undone by his own laughter. 

Mindful of Josh’s current fragility without making a show of his sympathies, Chris decided that the most coveted position upon the generous couch ended up being one where he was slouched down far enough to rest his upper half upon the other teen’s thigh, leaving him free to pick through the DVD cases scattered on the carpet beside them with idle eyes and fingertips. 

“Sam asked me to ask you if it’s alright to drop by. Almost tagged along today, but---yeah. She’s probably back home cooking chicken soup for you right now.” From his sprawled out position, Chris shifted just enough to look back up at his friend, with another crooked little smile. 

_Sam._

Josh met Chris’ upturned gaze then looked past him to the carrier dumped casually on the floor beside him. Rummaging through it with one hand, he found the loose leaf notes buried beneath and between the brightly packaged, almost obscene amount of junk food. He freed them as he drained the soda, marking its demise with a stifled burp.

It was her writing. He’d received enough copied assignments, get well soon doodles and sentiments from her, neatly written on a card or errant post-it, to know it well. He crushed the empty can and dropped it unceremoniously to the floor beside the couch.

He’d had a lot of time to think about his friends while he was bedridden, or rather ‘couch-ridden’ this time round. That was, when he could think clearly. The initial texts and calls had gone unanswered when the bad times started, but his friends had been persistent, yet not overwhelmingly so. In his worn-out state, predictive text made an incoherent mess of things, and so he’d replied as simply and concisely as possible with a template text message they had come to know well: _Not today_. The great canceller of plans. More texts followed and sat unread on his phone, which occasionally buzzed against the carpet, lost somewhere beneath the couch or coffee table.

Josh leaned over and placed the notes on the table. He wasn’t in a studying mood. Self-aimed frustration threatened to get the better of him, but with an exhale it subsided.

“She worries…” he mumbled, shifting to better accommodate his friend.

He wanted to see her. A lot, actually. But he didn’t want _her_ to see _him_. Not like this. The fact that she’d seen him in worse states didn’t change that.

“Maybe tomorrow.” He mustered up the faintest of smiles, “Bro time, right?”

“Hell to the yes.” Chris emerged from where he was draped casually over the slight curve of Josh’s thigh merely by rolling over to flop back down against him. Somehow, as was prone to happen whenever junk food was anywhere close to hand he was holding an already open packet of their favourite cookies. By the time they were expended, the sofa would probably resemble one giant mess of crumbs, and tattered plastic. No wonder Rosa often swept past the two of them wearing an expression which could bury the hardiest of souls. 

A broken cookie (testament to how clumsily they’d been delivered to the Washington home in the first place), was held out in Josh’s direction - the offer there, but not enforced in the same kind of demanding manner some of their other friends might’ve given it. The front of Chris’ sweater (and the plaid shirt visible beneath it), was somehow already speckled with tiny fragments of chocolate and sugar. How he did it was quite the mystery, but might just have explained what Sam had fondly termed ‘puppy fat’. 

Of course, her playful asides were met with some of the worst puns known to man. Most of which were entirely intended to leave both Sam and Josh groaning under the weight of their lameness. His sense of humour was nothing, if not consistent (and dire). Yet, somehow it worked along with Sam’s compassion, and the thoughtfulness which illness hadn’t ever managed to quell within Josh, to cement together their friendships. 

“What’s on the menu, J?” His other hand had snuck into the bag once more, and the question was delivered around what might just have been an entire cookie. Some of which ended up dusting the corners of his lips. Rosa would have both their heads this time. 

Josh took the cookie half from Chris, showing just a little more restraint than the younger teen, if only due to his slowed reactions.

“Thanks, dude.”

It tasted good after days of toast, cereal or nothing at all. Sugary and crunchy and just plain bad for you, but the familiarity of it relaxed Josh’s shoulders and he sank back a little more into the couch. Between Chris and his latest round of meds, he’d soon be lucky to fit into his everyday clothes.

He hadn’t really thought much of anything at all today, let alone considered making plans or entertaining company. Hell, he hadn’t even thought about being vertical till he heard his friend outside. But as Chris looked up at him expectantly, his jaw working what could easily have been yet another cookie, it didn’t seem to really matter. He forgot sometimes how easy things were with Chris, even when everything else felt so difficult.

“Well, I’m not running a marathon anytime soon.”

Again, that dull sound of amusement, but it felt more convincing this time.

He looked up at the screen. That same loop was still playing over and over, the actress’s face bigger than life-size, yet ignored till now.

“There’s probably something somewhere around here we haven’t seen _too_ many times.”

Josh looked around for the remote, half-remembering it from not long ago but unable to place it. It wasn’t on the floor, or if it was it had clattered away somewhere unnoticed. Possibly it was in the couch, but with the pair of them draped across it, it was difficult to say. He trailed his foot around the nearby patch of carpet, shifting a few DVD cases out of the way, but found nothing resembling it.

“Shift up.”

Gently, and with more than a little effort, Josh sat up just enough to disturb his friend’s grazing. He felt around the couch cushions with one hand, the other propping Chris up as he searched for it. Ignoring the few bits of loose change he recognised by touch, he found it. Reclining once more, he placed the remote on Chris’ chest, then closed his eyes for a moment as he recovered from the movement.

“Your choice, Cochise.”

After emitting an entirely fabricated ‘oof’ of discomfort when the remote was dropped onto his chest, the blonde wriggled into a more comfortable position in the yield of dense cushions behind them. He was a professional channel surfer on afternoons when homework was too much of a chore, and trash television beckoned a little too temptingly. Each thumbing of the button caused a fresh batch of images and sounds to splash themselves across the huge, but surprisingly clear screen of the television in front of their lounging spot. Seeing Josh’s momentary lapse into something akin to powered down, he’d already lowered the volume to mere murmurs before the third switch in channels.

Eventually, it was a gaudy aliens versus sharks drama on SyFy which caught enough of his fickle attention span to allow the remote to be tossed aside. Another cookie disappeared into the bulge of his cheek whilst he rearranged them, sitting up just enough to drag a thin woollen blanket which was perpetually draped over the back of the sofa down from its neatly folded home. 

The dry look Josh gave him when it was promptly draped over him instead was worth it. These walls had been missing laughter for too many days, and Chris didn’t leave them wanting any longer as he smoothed the blanket down over Josh’s slight shoulders, chuckling to himself around the remains of the dissolving cookie. 

Thankfully, it was more than generous enough to allow him to pull a measure of wool over his own legs where they were now tucked up, and another unceremonious belly flop left him leaning against Josh’s side. 

“That’s it, bro. I’m never moving again. Sharks, and aliens, and cookies, and you. This is it for me.” Laughter still rumbled in his chest, and despite the growing warmth ensconced beneath the blanket he didn’t seem remotely interested in divesting of any of the five layers he was already thoroughly smothered by. 

Josh may not have outwardly smiled, but he hummed something akin to agreement, or at least acknowledgement.

Despite being well-acquainted with the couch these last few days, he could honestly say that it hadn’t seemed as comfortable before now. Not even when the twins joined him the previous night to sit with him while they watched whatever trash teen drama they were currently following, cooing over the alleged heartthrob; his head resting on a pillow on Beth’s lap while Hannah absently cradled his sock-clad feet. And that had been good. Better than before.

Josh distractedly hitched up his shirt just enough to scratch his stomach before settling again into and against the warm cocoon of blankets and pillows of his friend’s making. Before long, he felt close to dozing again, despite the occasional flaring ache of unused muscles. This was easy.

No. It didn’t have to be as complicated, as tangled as it felt most of the time; working himself up into tiny internal fits of frustration at not being able to get his point across, or not quite ‘getting it’. And right now Chris was right. This was it.

A soft unhappy series of bleeps and the buzz of his phone shaking briefly against the carpet cut through the muted sounds of a shark attack interspersed with the pew pew of lasers and roused him.

Low battery. How it had managed to last that long without charging was beyond him, but it seemed that time had finally caught up with it. Knowing that only anxiety and concern lay inside the messages, he hadn’t even attempted to find it. The idea was too daunting and emotionally exhausting.

“Sorry I didn’t… you know…” his brow creased as he tried and failed to find the words he wanted, “Whatever.”

The last vestiges of life draining noisily out of Josh’s cell phone had also served to rouse Chris from where he’d been oddly invested in a tableau of awful computer generated violence and equally dire acting. He was probably one of the most prolific texters out of the lot of them, save for Jess who seemed constantly glued to the social life she orchestrated from the hub of her prized phone. 

Where Josh was lost for the right words to make apologies which he didn’t need to offer up, his companion felt no such qualms about stringing together some of the things which often went unspoken. Reassurances which might have sounded trite coming from the figures of authority which lingered upon the vestiges of their very personal and chaotic lives, were handed out with a grass roots kind of sincerity that radiated off of Chris as if it could almost become a tangible source of light in an otherwise shadowed room. 

It jostled the familiar, comfortable tessellation they’d made for themselves upon the couch, but with a pillow bolstering the fold of his elbows, Chris leaned up so that he was nestled more upon Josh’s stomach than anything else - even if the majority of his weight stayed adhered to the cushions behind their incumbent bodies. 

That in itself left his entire attention devoted to the troubled brunette when most of the other kids at school, and even some of the adults struggled to face him, and all his issues head on. 

“I’m not gonna say I didn’t miss you, because we both know that’s a load of bullshit, but yeah...it’s okay. It really is. We move at our own pace, right? So, here’s me slowing down for your sorry ass.” Behind frames which lazy sprawling had rendered slightly skewed his eyes were rich with amusement, and that same uncomplicated sincerity. For someone who seemed to have their head in the clouds, and their body running rings around itself, there were some constants which had never wavered within Chris. Least of all when it came to Josh. 

An uneven smile tugged at the corner of Josh’s mouth as he regarded his friend. Despite all the hours of talking therapy, Chris was the one who could better express himself. He cut through the bullshit, speaking plainly when so many statements and questions aimed at Josh in his sessions seemed somehow designed to trick him into saying something he didn’t mean, or didn’t even know he was saying. And Chris accepted it all, even when, like now, his head wasn’t… what was the way they’d referred to it before? ‘On straight’?

“Thanks.”

He attempted to straighten Chris’ glasses with clumsy fingers, pushing them further askew before correcting the error.

“That was gonna bug me.”

Josh laughed with his mouth closed, the strongest he’d mustered up for a while, chest lightly shaking with the force of it before a twinge in his shoulder cut it a little short. But he ignored it, resting his head back against the cushion for a long moment, feeling heavier and lighter all at once with Chris’ reassuring weight upon him. When he opened his eyes, he let his gaze settle on the ceiling.

Just when he thought he might zone out again, Josh found himself speaking without really planning to, answering questions that hadn’t – and wouldn’t – be asked. Sometimes he checked and double-checked everything before getting it out there, especially on one of _those_ days, but right now the words came out almost before he’d even thought them.

“Was a bad one this time, man. But it’s alright.”

Hearing himself, he nodded in agreement.

“It’s alright.”

Contemplative wasn’t exactly how most of his friends would describe him, but at that very moment the pair of them lapsed into something of a communal silence. For Josh it seemed to be born out of a potent blend of exhaustion despite the languid crawl his life had taken on in the last few days, and self-consciousness that often caused him to shut down upon any number of levels. 

A musing sound expelled itself from between Chris’ lips where he was lying, chin tucked atop the cross of his forearms, and with it came a slow smile. The kind infused with warmth which, whilst freely given was doled out in its most generous amounts to Josh, Sam, and a sparing circle of others. 

“It doesn’t have to be.” He started, not sounding as if he was picking his words quite so carefully out of concern for the fragile balance within which Josh’s moods often hung. It had been years since he’d learned to skirt that particular causeway, navigating from one foothold to the next in a way which left them both a little more than intact. A route that had held fast during the lowest points of their lives, and continued to do so through Josh’s own path to recovery. 

“You don’t have to be alright, bro. You can just be whatever it is you’re feeling.” 

The sentimental truth of his own words caused him to huff a soft tickle of laughter over the skin left bared where Josh’s t-shirt had rucked itself upwards. Yet, it was quite obvious that he meant every one of them. 

“Listen to me sounding like a textbook, or something.” Still grinning he leaned over Josh to pick his own can of soda out from the carcass of the plastic bag slumped beside the sofa. 

Again, Josh smiled in that lazy, tired way, warmed by the easy way Chris always managed to say just enough to put his turbulent mind at ease. Not that it needed much easing right now. His thoughts weren't muddled exactly. Far from it. Anything too complicated just hung at the fringes to be dealt with some other time.

He patted Chris’ shoulder and let his hand rest there as he stretched farther back against the couch, feeling something almost like contentment. 

"I know. I was just doing so well, you know?" He said, his words softened by a light-hearted, wistful tone.

And he had been. He'd been so... up. A little _too_ up for his shrink's taste it seemed. Hence the Lithobid and the trial and error 'let's wait and see' treatment he'd become used to throughout his teenage years. But, as was the rule, when the cons outweighed the pros they returned to square one and slowly he'd go through the gradual weaning off of whatever they'd tried this time around. 

Uppers and downers. Pros and cons. Always cons.

"What about you? I didn't even ask about you." He half-murmured, giving Chris’ shoulder a light squeeze. 

_Displays empathy towards others._

He imagined Dr North adding the comment to her notes.

Whether it was consciously or not, Chris leaned into the companionable gesture, rolling his shoulder ever so slightly beneath Josh’s grasp. Those rare instances when his best-friend was riding the crest of something positive, something which felt like a normal life were times he’d learned to treasure just as much as the ones where Sam and himself managed (with his sisters’ help), to support him through the worst of moments. Whatever aspects of his personality, and the reactions derived from it were controlled by the latest string of medications never really seemed to matter as long as he was, at his core, feeling somewhere close to alright. 

Not that he’d readily admit to feeling anything other than a dryly delivered, ‘Okay.’ 

“Where to begin. My life is a total roller-coaster, you know that.” 

There were less than subtle hints of sarcasm in his reply, but in truth without Josh at his side things had still traipsed on as they always did. School was a world unto itself - routine pervaded by whatever juvenile drama his other friends and classmates had gotten themselves tangled up in. This week had seen the usual romantic clusterfuck that represented Mike’s existence blow up as it was prone to do. A teacher had been ‘let go’ for ‘appropriation of school supplies.’ (How many stolen staplers did one dude need??), and there had been a smack down fight which involved a good two thirds of the meatheads off of the football team. That had been a particularly awesome afternoon - complete with deadpan commentaries from the bleachers where he’d been otherwise peacefully enjoying lunch with Sam and Ashley. 

None of that came to mind, not at first anyway. 

“You’ve gotta hurry up and mutate back from a couch potato, cos I found the best place ever.” 

The good few minutes it took to dig his phone up resulted in an impromptu fumbling off of several too many layers - all of which ended up flung off of the side of the sofa until Chris finally located his own phone buried in the back pocket of his jeans. It was a scuffed old model (a whole four months old to be exact) he’d been forced into using whilst waiting for enough money from several eBay accounts and other less discernible means of income rolled in and allowed him to upgrade to the latest iPhone. 

Flopping so that his back ended up on the pillow which was in turn draped over Josh’s chest he held it aloft to show him a series of photos. However, instead of some sleek gadget shop with displays holding things he’d never be able to afford, or a new arcade stocked with gaudy cabinets from days gone by the images contained a far less hectic scene. 

From the looks of things it’d been during the midst of a violent, beautiful sunset - ochre and burnt evening light splashed across the horizon, that he’d taken them. Wherever it was rivalled the vantage points at the Washington’s winter lodge. The same views they’d taken in together upon one of Chris’ eternal, useless searches for a Wi-Fi signal. 

“Al fresco Bro Time, whaddya say?” 

When Chris had finally settled back against him, Josh leaned in closer, resting his head against his friend's to better see the vista presented to him. Even trapped within the confines of the screen, the view was impressive, reminding him of the welcome chill of winter and the fresh summer nights up north. 

A week in the summer and almost the entire winter break. Those times out of town with his family were a much needed catharsis. A time to just _be_. Summer camp had been out of the question for a long time, but it hadn't mattered when he had that place to wile away the hours.

Looking at the photo - which no doubt did little justice to the reality of its subject despite its quality - and with the comforting weight of his friend on his chest, Josh realised that perhaps one of the best parts of being out there in the wilderness was the company. Even though Chris only stayed at the lodge for a long weekend or two, vacations didn't feel entirely complete until the seemingly endless minutes Josh spent waiting at the bus stop paid off. He could almost hear the tyres grinding to a halt and the crunch of Chris' boots in the snow as he stepped down from the bus to greet him, bundled up in endless layers yet rubbing his hands together in a shivering show of cold, his warm breath steaming the air through a smile.

He thought to ask where the mystery place was, but it didn't matter. It could have been anywhere.

"Yeah, for sure." Josh worked his arm free of the warm mess of blankets and bodies to slowly rustle Chris’ hair, a touch rougher than intended but affectionate nonetheless. "Fo _sho_." 

Careful not to drop it, Josh took the phone from Chris with his free hand and scrolled through the photos. “Just us?” His thumb stilled on a particularly awesome shot, “When?”

But a part of him knew that, no matter how contagious Chris’ enthusiasm was, it wouldn't be soon. _Couldn't_ be soon.

“Unless you wanna induct Sam in as an official bro, yeah just us.” The offense strung atop his answer was entirely fabricated, twinned with a sour look that slid seamlessly into another one of the younger teen’s goofy smiles as he rolled over to regard where Josh was swiping through the contents of his phone. 

Some of the photos contained within it were downright baffling without context, but others spoke for themselves. Ashley, ever the prolific selfie taker (although she had nothing on selfie queen, Jess who’d perfected several thousand types of facial expressions purely to stay on trend), had clearly dragged him into more than one picture, despite his protests that he looked like a potato with specs in each, and every one of them. They stood huddled together around the lens, his arm bracketing her delicate shoulders as the otherwise perfect shots were ruined by his own succession of dorky poses. 

They looked happy. Carefree. _Normal._

“Whenever, man. It’s not like that place is going anywhere.” By now, the inherent chill he seemed bound by even when they weren’t crunching their way around the snowy inclines of the Blackwood Mountains had receded, leaving a sleepy kind of contentment in its wake. Nestled down beneath a measure of the blanket which covered them both, Chris emitted a stifled yawn, and let his cheek rest against the pillow between them. This naturally left his glasses askew once more, and he fumbled to remove them even if his resulting vision was less than crystal clear. 

With Chris’ attention on the TV once more, Josh locked the phone and the images clicked to black. Placing it on the free space on the arm of the couch behind them, he exhaled deep and slow as a sinking feeling came over him.

Escape and reality, side by side, framed in neat little boxes.

That familiar discontent was there, balled up tight inside him, though significantly dulled by his current state. But Josh didn’t begrudge Chris for getting on with his life. Quite the opposite. He was grateful for the generously large windows of time his best friend made for them despite the ups and downs of Chris’ own life. But that was just it. Somehow the blonde could just shrug it off and keep going in a way that Josh simply couldn’t comprehend, and he _still_ somehow found a way to keep Josh’s pace when the older teen slowed down or sped up. It was all _so easy_ for Chris, which only emphasized just how difficult it was for the eldest of the Washington siblings, for whom ‘easy’ was a fairly foreign concept.

Josh glanced down at Chris, a vision of contentment against his chest.

_You can just be whatever it is you’re feeling._

But what if what he was feeling wasn’t what he wanted to be? Maybe he didn’t want to be a clenched fist of frustration or an overwhelming swarm of thoughts. What if he didn’t want to be a splinter under the skin or a heavy suitcase with broken wheels?

The silence opened up, replacing conversation with the sedate rise and fall of unhurried breathing and the quiet underwater space battles being fought beside them. Until it was interrupted. The sound of the digital alarm clock was jarringly loud in the quiet space they’d carved out.

Josh furrowed his brow. Driven by his dislike of the incessant beeping, he mumbled a vague apology and reluctantly squirmed out from beneath Chris. It took a moment to get his head together and a further twenty seconds or so to locate the source of aggravation. The small clock lay face down on the coffee table amid the plastic cases. He sighed with relief as a click of a button silenced it.

Leaving Chris in a loose tangle of blanket, Josh pulled two cookies loose from the pack and got to his feet. After steadying himself, he casually tossed one in the blonde’s direction and chewed on the other as he walked zombie-like across the room to the nearby kitchen.

_Shouldn’t be taken on an empty stomach._

Bypassing the breakfast bar, Josh shuffled to the cupboard beside the fridge. Muscle memory took the pill box that sectioned up his days into manageable parts from the shelf. He clicked open one of the compartments and tapped the three little pills into his hand. In another practiced movement, he closed his palm around them and replaced the pill box. Swallowing the cookie, he twisted the top off a bottle of water from the fridge then gulped back the contents of his hand.

_Lower the dose and ride it out. Like some kind of junkie._

When he looked back into the family room from across the polished granite countertop, Chris met his gaze. His friend was one of only a few people who would look at him head on like that, rather than avert their eyes in an overly-polite and often grating show of ‘consideration’.

Josh scratched the back of his neck and shrugged, wearing a weak, self-deprecating smile. “Everything a growing boy needs.”

Leaning against the granite with the counter between them, he felt distinctly distant, disconnected, and very much alone.

Maybe he’d had to brush stray cookie crumbs out of his hair, but Chris still demolished the remaining morsel long before Josh had even made it to the threshold of the kitchen. Waste not, want not, and all that. His limbs had made their protests in silence as they were denied not only the heat of another snuggled up close, but louder still when their owner sat up in a sloppily cross-legged configuration upon the mess of the couch cushions and overturned blanket. 

For a moment the impulse to go to Josh, or merely hold a hand out with every intention of drawing him back into the lackadaisical contentment they’d been quietly sharing before it was blown to smithereens by his usual wakeup call was all too prevalent. A strong, singular thought which had his hand lifting from where it had rested incumbent upon the crook of one denim clad thigh. 

He looked like a territory all of his own standing in the middle of an otherwise mediocre scene. In the telling light of the other room every facet of how heavily this latest bout of medication had worn down upon him was on show. The pallor of skin which was in bad need of the sun, the dark swatches which followed the curve of tired eyes. Even his posture was a spectre of itself - shoulders hunched and a step away from trembling. 

Thorns tightened in Chris’ chest, and with no witty counter to settle them both back into easy, superficial banter he pushed off of the back of the sofa. Josh never could hold anyone’s gaze, not even his own where it lacked the same judgement and misconceptions of their peers, for too long. So, it ended up that he was already staring down at the counter by the time a warm hand found his shoulder, tracing the braille threaded into a slab of polished granite with his fingertips - nails bitten down to the quick, ragged and worrisome. 

“You want me to head out, or…….?” 

"No." The word was blurted out in protest almost instantly, the urgency in Josh's tone just a few tired steps away from hysterical. Blank gaze still on the counter, his hand found Chris’ on his shoulder. He made an effort to calm his voice. "...No." 

He was ruining it again. The makings of a great evening and he was ruining it. And the worst part of it was that he didn't know quite how or why it had happened. 

His attitude towards the medication changed as often as his mood at times. Sometimes he welcomed the mind-numbing effects of downers, other times he felt suffocated by them, like his strings had been cut. But now he was in that daunting middle ground where neither option was right for him. After days of thinking and feeling very little, the sudden change of pace was a little overwhelming. 

_Stop it._

Chris’ hand was warm beneath his own and showed no sign of going anywhere. 

Nothing had even happened to set him off this time, and it was the recognition of that coupled with Chris’ endless patience regardless that began to sting the corner of his eyes.

_For fuck's sake..._

He turned away, the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes.

"Ah fuck, man... I'm sorry. I..." Josh exhaled through pursed lips, "Just a minute..."

The desperation which wavered high in Josh’s voice came as something of a surprise. It was often difficult to know whether he preferred the solace of being alone, or wanted nothing more than to saturate himself in the company of the few whom he trusted to see him during these grim periods of change. Sympathy born from the kind of understanding Chris had tried to foster for years - through covert reading at their school’s well-furnished library about the conditions Josh had actually spoken to him about - in a hushed voice, as if he was deeply ashamed of putting names to his erratic behaviours. As if he assumed that even his best-friend would pass judgement upon him for being under their combined duress. 

Seconds slowly manifested themselves into minutes, and silence hung heavy between them - pervasive throughout the house save for the muted scuffles emanating from the television in the lounge beyond. Josh’s shoulders continued to twitch and tick, and when he refused to turn back the thicket in Chris’ chest squirmed, digging into the depths of his sentiment and fondness for his friend. 

“C’mere.” A soft exhale, barely a word to begin with was accompanied by the sure feeling of his arms tucking themselves under Josh’s elbows, holding him loosely enough to allow for escape if the contact was too much to bear. Yet, firmly enough that the gesture was imbued with something more than mere protectiveness, or empty obligation. 

“......I got you, bro.” 

Out of all of Josh’s friends, Chris was always quickest to offer up a hug or a generously given friendly touch, and as one of his oldest friends, Josh was a frequent and willing recipient. But this one caught him a little off guard. Instinctively defensive, Josh flinched, his shoulders tightening. But it passed. Gradually he began to relax and, after giving his eyes a final wipe with his palms, leaned back just a little into the embrace with a shaky sigh.

"I know."

It took a long moment until he felt composed enough to speak again. Idly picking at one of Chris’ fingers, he gave a breathy little laugh. "So stupid."

Daring to look up, he caught sight of their hazy reflection in the chrome oven in front of him. Even in the distorted image he looked tired. It seemed that no matter how much sleep he got, that wouldn't change.

"It's so stupid." He repeated, surprised by the relief he felt, his tone actually genuinely amused by the absurdity of his moment of weakness. 

Squeezing Chris’ hand, he sniffed. "Stay." He said again firmly, but in a way he hoped wouldn't sound too demanding or needy, "Its fine, man. _I'm_ fine."

Someone who didn’t know Josh quite so well might’ve been offended, or merely bewildered by the sharp jolt of unease which had greeted his gesture at first. However, it was less potent than the sensation of feeling the smaller brunette’s frame (a body which had grown worryingly thin at times, due to his lack of motivation for self-care), sink back against the broadness of his chest. It was as sure of a signal as any that Josh wasn’t uncomfortable being held. That, and the subtle feeling of pale, shaky fingers plucking absently at his own until he curled a warm palm around them.

A recompense for what wasn’t even a real slight, he tucked his chin into the crown of thick, dark hair beneath it, and watched the same distortion of their closeness which had stolen away his friend’s attention even as he murmured honest, embarrassed answers. 

“Let’s just agree that we’re both _damn_ fine, and no one can deny it.” 

A lame joke, but delivered with all the dorky amusement it deserved. That, and a gentle squeeze of the arms encircling Josh’s waist which told of Chris’ inherent desire to help him find the lighter side of moments like these. A snuffled little echo of his own mirth was answer enough. 

“.....I’ve not---I guess I should fess up before Ashley spills the beans.” It was then that he shifted them both, allowing a measure of distance even if one arm remained loosely tethered to Josh’s hip. Something rueful entered into his expression, and he trod a little more carefully as the eldest Washington sibling regarded him with obvious uncertainty in his eyes. 

For once, Josh couldn't quite read Chris’ expression. Sometimes he could get so wrapped up in his own head that he missed the subtle and not-so-subtle tells and signals others gave. To anyone who wasn't close to him, Josh could seem less than empathetic, he knew that. But out of everyone - his sisters and Sam included - Chris was the person he thought he had a handle on. So, Chris’ hesitation, coupled with the almost sheepish way the blonde was looking at him, were - unless he was way off the mark - out of sorts. He tried to ignore the uneasy way his stomach lurched. Tired eyes flickered back and forth as he tried to figure out why.

It felt strange to be the one coaxing an answer from the other for a change. "What..." He trailed off as he scrutinised the other teen, "What's up?"

When no immediate answer came, he gently placed his hand on Chris’ arm and gave him a look that he hoped would reassure him, but didn't quite reach the silent disquiet in his eyes.

"No kid gloves. We said no kid gloves, remember?" 

Making that particular promise was a memory that wouldn’t soon find itself languishing in the dustiest corners of Chris’ mind. In fact it was all there in technicolour, dredged up by those very same words he’d heard coming in fractured whispers from between cracked lips. The stench of chlorine and badly disguised vomit had stung to the back of his throat back then, as he’d sat hunched forward in an uncomfortable hospital chair beside the bed in which Josh lay curled up on his side. 

He’d held fast upon the tears which threatened behind his glasses, and promised around the lump in his throat. It was the least of all he could do just to respect Josh by not coddling him when it came to the serious stuff. A pattern he’d lived by since that awful night. 

“Yeah, yeah we did.” 

_Doesn’t make it any easier to add to your burdens._

It was now or never. Sam had been at his heels for weeks now, Ashley joining in her chorus of coaxing with a more accusatory tone that the steadfast, compassionate blonde couldn’t bring herself to adopt when Chris was the one dealing with a heavy issue for once. Heck, he was usually the one lifting them out of their own doldrums with a dumb joke, or a small, perfect gesture that meant so much despite being so little. 

“You’re gonna have to cope without my fabulous self for a few weeks.” His tone shifted, trying to brush aside the air of tension surrounding Josh before it made itself at home. The hand which had been light upon his waist firmed up its hold just a fraction, as if proximity could provide the edge he needed to get through what he had been cornered into admitting. Other hand tapping at the thick temple of his glasses, he continued, 

“Might be saying goodbye to these bad boys, but I have to get fixed up first. I’m still gonna bug you like crazy on Facebook though. Can’t have my best guy getting bored without me, right?” 

Maybe Josh would spare them both and not ask about the details. That way they could settle back into the same even keel they’d traipsed along at together before he changed his meds. Breezing towards exams, and the fun of time spent together on break in the wake of them. 

"Lose...?" Josh's lips twitched and twisted in a subtle array of uncomfortable movements, shifting from a disbelieving hint of a smile to a downturned expression of concern and back again several times as he tried to understand what Chris had said. "Wait, what?"

For a moment he wasn't quite sure what Chris actually meant, but when their eyes met and the blonde glanced away, if only for a second, the enormity of what he'd said hit home, even through the fog still clinging to him.

A lot of questions began to surface one by one, like shoots sprouting from beneath the dull earth of Josh's mind. Weeks? Fixed?

His friend's eyesight was a recurring butt of jokes among their friendship group, and one that Chris himself was quick to take ownership of in a light-hearted, self-deprecating way. But it hadn't seemed like more than an exercise in hyperbole. But that wasn't the truth of it, was it? Not if what Chris had said meant what Josh thought it did.

"What's...?” Josh paused and sighed at length, brow drawn together. His eyes seemed sharper now, focused by concern. "What's happening? I don't..." He trailed off and squeezed Chris’ arm. "We... we can talk, right?"

Confusing the hell out of Josh hadn’t exactly been high on Chris’ priority list when it came to admitting that maybe he wasn’t quite as completely okay as he always seemed to be. Most of the time it was true, and he sailed along upon placid waters, tending to the needs and wants of his friends more than he ever considered those of himself. Halcyon days spent meandering towards adulthood. 

This wasn’t the kind of conversation for standing in the middle of the Washington’s lavish kitchen, surrounded by appliances which might’ve looked more at home in a laboratory given that Chris was basically a master of the microwave meal diet. So, with gentle, and far from insistence hands he led Josh back to the sofa. Their warmth had long since faded from the haven of cushions and wool, but it was comfortable all the same. 

“It’s a routine procedure…”

It wasn’t. 

“....I’m gonna be out in like a week, but you know how things are. Bed rest, and looking like a pirate. Not that I’m complaining about no homework, Netflix, and chill life for a bit.”  
In actuality he was quietly shitting an entire tonne of bricks, but Josh didn’t need to know the whole extent of it. How he’d accepted it when Sam hugged him fiercely. How she’d pretended not to even notice the anxiety perspiring right out from his pores. Her calm nature was infectious, even to a mellow guy such as himself. It’d quieted all those tiny doubts which were coalescing in the dark spaces he didn’t acknowledge existed within him very often. 

“Actually…..” 

He paused, voice gaining a fresh softness around the edges, but his gaze didn’t waver from where Josh was looking back at him - bereft due to the lack of details he’d been given so far - 

“....I was kinda scared as hell.” Not quite laughing, his shoulders lifted in a tiny shrug, “.....and then I thought about you. About all the crap you’ve had to deal with, and I guess things got put back into perspective, or something. Can’t have you being the toughest guy around. Gotta protect my rep.” He was smiling now, as the snarl of thorns slowly tried to untangle themselves. If nothing else, giving up the secret he’d not quite intentionally been keeping from Josh for weeks felt like the right thing to do. Like relief. 

Back on the couch with a pillow held loosely to his chest, Chris’ confession was easier to take. But, Josh imagined, only just. 

The idea of Chris being scared about anything - anything real, at least - was somewhere between absurd and heart-breaking. The further idea that Chris had decided not to tell him and had been dealing with it alone was just the same.

That dormant voice inside him thought to interrupt his friend’s words with a protest. Why hadn't he said anything? Anything at all? And weeks away? But another thought stilled his tongue.

_It's not always about you._

He listened. Sat quietly, eyes never leaving Chris as he slowly but surely unburdened himself. A small, expectant silence opened up.

_You should've told me._

But saying it wouldn't help either of them.

"That's... that's not me. That's _us_." He paused and tried to get his thoughts in order and make some semblance of sense. "I wouldn't be..."

_I wouldn't be nearly as alright without you._

He wasn't good at this. At all.

"It's us, okay? Hell, the times you've dealt with my crap." He gestured to the kitchen and the mess of junk food, DVDs and displaced cushions they'd returned to.

Placing a hand on the blonde's knee, he leaned forward just a touch.

"When?"

Contrary to Josh’s ardent belief that he was useless when their positions were reversed, the faint air of awkwardness which was rarely seen in someone as forthright and gregarious as himself was slowly lifting like morning mist dispersing to make way for the sun. A breath huffed itself out of him, trembling a little around the edges, until it eased into another smile. 

“The day after tomorrow.” As if he’d known that Josh’s train of thought might go to some doubtful places - stations where he wondered if he was being shielded, or worse still - denied the truth because it might kick off a meltdown of his own - Chris covered that hand with his own - palm warm and calloused from the cell phones in its perpetual grasp.

“I wasn’t keeping secrets from you, man. It just….never seemed like the right time, and---” 

For once he looked away, fingers tucked briefly around Josh’s palm before he let go entirely. 

“I like seeing you happy…..makes me happy. So, I kept kinda forgetting I might end up like Daredevil, cos yeah…” 

He was laughing now, the sound rumbling between where their thighs were pressed together. Even with his head tipped back, altered gaze tracing patterns in the ceiling paper, a tiny curl of a smile had anointed the very corners of his lips. 

Chris’ laughter had a warming effect on Josh, but it still didn't entirely dispel the dulled anxiety knotting his gut.

"It's..." He wanted to say that it would be fine, but his own experience of being handed such a useless, asinine sentiment kept him silent. Nobody ever knew that for certain, no matter their intentions.

Watching Chris put on a brave face wasn't an unusual sight when it came to Josh's problems, but it was almost painful when his own issues were the cause.

_The day after tomorrow._

Josh couldn't count the number of times he'd bailed on plans at the last minute or just plain hadn't shown up, but the unreasonably selfish thought still made itself heard. It was short notice, and deep down he knew that the likelihood of being 'functional' by then was unlikely.

But he would be. Somehow.

Josh lifted his hand from the warm place it had settled on Chris. It stilled hesitantly in the air. He was a little unsure of whether his compulsion was appropriate. It _felt_ okay. Then why was he nervous?

With tentative fingers, Josh gently plucked the glasses from Chris’ face, placing them on his friend's lap as he studied his friend’s changed appearance.

"...You're gonna look different without your glasses." He murmured, lost in contemplation. 

Without his glasses the world was reduced to something which resembled the smears left upon a plate after it’d been cleared. Colours indistinctly mashed together, and hazy edges to those things he could decipher. It had been a gradual decline, and with the addition of the crippling headaches he’d managed to largely keep to himself until a couple of fainting spells at home which had his mom on high alert, the time for some form of intervention was long overdue. 

He knew he was squinting, but grinned in the direction of the Josh shaped object sitting blearily at the centre of his distorted vision. Everything about the rest of the situation was still in tune - the warmth of a thigh pressed against his own, the faint lilt of Josh’s breathing as he leaned forward to study the difference an absence of spectacles made to his friend’s face. 

“Ash said I look like a potato whenever I take them off. Charming, huh?” The additional scrutiny he’d had inflicted upon him by a committee made up of an avidly interested Ashley, Sam - who looked like she thought this whole ordeal was somewhat inappropriate in light of the nerves Chris had professed to her, and Mike - whose eye-rolling and dry assessments that Chris was never, ever going to get laid anyway - continued on unabated until he’d snatched up his glasses once more, and brought all three of them back into focus. 

Josh’s curiosity felt different, and an odd prickle of heat rushed through him. Though it probably had more to do with the blankets and cushions hemming them both in upon the mess of a sofa than anything approaching self-consciousness. 

“Will you still love me, dude? Even if I look like a big, ugly, Russet?” 

It was hard not to smile with Chris squinting at him, blue eyes narrowed almost comically but the same old smile gracing his lips despite it all. Comforting and tragic all at once.

"Of course, man." Josh's reply didn't come instantly, but it wasn't down to doubt or hesitation. It was said in a sincere, ponderous way Josh hoped would get rid of at least some of the insecurities Chris had. "You can look like whatever veg you like s'far as I care."

_What if something goes wrong?_

He couldn't think like that. Neither of them could. Chris had been there for him when the same question could be asked countless times. He swallowed. Silenced the thought. Then took a different tack.

Josh picked up the glasses and slipped them into Chris’ hand, adding, "Till then, I can tell you what's going on, right?" He settled back against the couch, his head feeling heavy, "Read your texts to you, tell you what's on TV..." His eyes closed. He sniggered, "...be your seeing eye Josh."

“Asshole. I’m not a grandpa yet. Besides, you’ll always be older!” After a couple of fumbled attempts, Chris got his glasses back on. The world slid into focus a little slower than it used to, and with it came the realization that Josh looked thoroughly worn out by their miniature melodrama. Still, he couldn’t resist reaching over, his weight settling against the other’s chest and thighs for just a moment as he jabbed him in the sides - almost a ticklish motion with both hands before withdrawing to drag the blanket back up over his friend. 

“Want anything from the kitchen?” Seven Eleven snacks, and soda just weren’t going to cut it this time. A tell-tale gurgling which stemmed from Chris’ stomach spoke volumes about his apparent appetite. Besides, he was comfortably familiar with the Washington kitchen, despite its many peculiar culinary contraptions. Certain things were not to be touched - lest Josh’s mother would lecture them both about not only making a mess, but wasting premium ingredients. It was with her long winded chastisements in mind that he only ever ventured far enough to pilfer something calorific from Josh’s own stash, or on rare occasions one of Beth or Hannah’s far less fattening choices. 

For all of the protests his tummy was loudly endorsing, he still sat back for a while, and patted the blanket down into the crevices of the sofa around Josh with idle hands. 

“You can have whatever you like as long as it only involves the microwave. I still remember last time…..I think your mom wanted to throw _me_ into the oven.”

Josh stifled a laugh as he brushed off the attack and let himself be tucked in, too weary to protest and distracted by the prospect of food. He hadn’t really felt hunger for a long time, or perhaps the risk of throwing up was the bigger off-putting factor, but the meagre snacks he’d eaten coupled with the hastily finished soda weren’t causing any issues so far. “Sure.”

If Chris considered himself a microwave chef at best, Josh’s cooking skills were far worse. There had been more than one occasion when the pair of them had begun to make something on Chris’ whim, only to discover halfway through that they’d somehow used nearly every utensil and most of the week’s shopping with little to show for it. He remembered one time in particular when they’d been caught red-handed years ago, when the urge to make a milkshake at 2am during one of their sleepovers seemed like a good idea. The main light flicked on to reveal the pair, frozen guiltily in place amid the mess they’d made - milk on most of the surfaces and each other - when the blender took on a life of its own.

Usually the idea of something dripping in cheese or smothered in an obscenely fatty sauce appealed, but Josh thought better of it. Besides, his mom was on a health kick at the moment and such things had been replaced with low fat this and diet that. Hopefully there was probably something there that had survived the purge.

“I think there’s some kind of chicken thing or something in the freezer. I haven’t even looked in there for…” He sighed. “You can wait till my mom’s back if you want.”

He could sense his mood slipping, just a touch, and made an effort to rally. “Is that why you’re here? I didn’t think the bored housewife thing was your scene.”

Chris was on his feet again by the time Josh roused his energy enough to reply. A smile suffused with equal measures of teasing and warmth suffused his entire expression. It was as if by simply talking about one of his own rare instances of anxiety he’d somehow divested of the majority of his concerns. After all, not many people could say they had a circle of friends who would have their back so resolutely, and without hesitation. 

Leaning over, his torso dulled the light still emanating from the television screen. It’d long since moved through a couple of shorter shows, and was now playing some made for TV shocker with some of the most juvenile computer graphics the blonde had even suffered through. His focus was entirely upon Josh now though, and two large, warm hands briefly covered both his pallid cheeks as he murmured, “I’m here because I want to be.” 

With that, he was gone - ambling off into the kitchen, arms outstretched above his head to work the kinks out of them upon the way. Maybe if he kept it simple - using as little of the kitchen as humanly possible then perhaps nothing would explode, and they could avoid a lecture altogether. With that in mind his presence was reduced to the odd muffled curse word, and random thumps and dings. 

“You gonna eat in your sleep, or am I gonna have to feed Sir, like a good butler?” The next thing Josh would know, Chris was sitting beside him once more - a large wooden tray balanced upon his ample thighs. It was weighed down with a couple of plates, a dish from which not only a faintly seasoned aroma had unfurled, but also tendrils of steam which floated like phantoms into the shadowed air. That, and a couple of forks, and a wad of hastily snatched napkins. 

Josh hadn’t even realised that he’d begun to lightly doze while the blonde was gone, somehow managing to leave the kitchen intact and return with what smelled like edible food. It was a good result. He straightened up, feeling stiff.

It wasn’t the first time Chris had offered to feed him and he hesitated. Memories threatened to surface of sweat-damp sheets and that sickly sharp smell of artificial cleanliness. But, with Chris beside him, he managed to shake them loose, too tired to let his mind wander that way.

He took a fork and shifted in his seat, leaning over to better see the spread laid out on Chris’ lap. Spearing something resembling chicken from the dish, he sank back into the couch and chewed on it thoughtfully. “S’good, man.”

The fork hung loose in his hand for a moment while Josh debated whether or not he could muster up the energy to sit forward again. He decided that although he probably could, tiredness coupled with the warm nest he’d returned to had rendered him lazy. Pride had never been an issue when it came to such things and so, with the drowsy makings of a wry smile, he held the fork out expectantly in Chris’ direction and wondered if the blonde would tear himself away from filling his own face to do him a favour.

“How’s Sam? Han and Bee haven’t said much.” Josh asked as he glanced at the notes sitting on the coffee table. He knew she’d be worrying about him – she always did, and wore it more openly than was sometimes bearable – and now Chris too. The lack of returned communication made him feel more than a little guilty for most likely adding to that.

“She got a new hat?” A hint of dubiousness overtook Chris’ usually placid face for a moment, but when the fork was wiggled expectantly in his direction he relented and took it. There were only two people, perhaps a couple more if he admitted that Josh’s parents had probably witnessed it too - who knew it wasn’t just the nurses, and his sisters who’d been around to take care of Josh the last time it got really, really bad. He’d played at just being a concerned buddy who rolled around once every couple of days to check in on his bestie. It’d been so much more than that though, and thankfully, a malaise of drugs and absence of mind had kept Josh from realizing he’d nearly driven himself to collapse purely out of a stubborn need to make sure Josh was alright. 

“It’s pretty dope if you ask me. Emily wanted to know where it was from of course, gotta have them designer goods. She’d been fawning over it all day, and you should’ve seen her face when Sam told her it was from Target.” He chuckled, whilst pushing the fork around until it speared another morsel of chicken. A hand was cupped beneath it, fork and all, and his shoulder leant into the cushions as he offered it to Josh so that he didn’t have to strain himself to remain upright. 

“Looked pretty fresh on me too apparently.” The wink he tossed Josh would’ve alluded to that statement being a white lie, but this was Chris. He’d definitely tried that hat on, and he’d definitely cat walked around the lunch room whilst wearing it. Sam had the photos to prove it, and had promised to sell them to a tabloid for millions if Chris ever got hella famous.  
“Nah, man. She’s good. Ash is good. Hell, even Emily’s good, and she’s _never_ too far from the centre of everything.” It was the truth - whilst Josh was dealing with all the problems under the sun, they’d been coasting through petty melodramas upon a daily basis. In that respect at least, he could almost always reassure the worries of the older teen. 

Another forkful, and the pad of his thumb swept away a small splotch of sauce where it clung to the corner of Josh’s lips - only to be immediately popped into his own mouth, because waste not want not. He returned to alternating between his own portions and readying smaller morsels for Josh when he wanted them. 

_Good. Good is good._

The little spikes of activity that coloured the days of his little circle of friends were just enough to peak his interest. Lacking in any real drama – Josh kept himself clear of that side of things at all cost – they were a nice diversion.

“Ha, I hear that.” Another morsel slid down his throat and warmed Josh from the inside out. “Tell Sam thanks, for…” he gestured to the notes, “I’ll get right on it.” The statement was entirely unconvincing.

Josh still felt heavy, but it was a comfortable sensation this time, of being pulled down into the cushions rather than being pushed ever downward into the ground. The brief lapse in the kitchen seemed a long way off. Hell, even Chris’ problems…

He parted his lips and let Chris slip another forkful of food into his mouth before the blonde turned back to his own food with gusto.

_Two days._

And here Chris was, playing sick nurse. Josh watched him tuck into another bite, as if he had no problems in the world.

It was a scab that was itching to be picked at.

He didn’t want to ruin it, not when he could just leave it be. But he knew his own predictably unpredictable mind well enough to anticipate that the moment Chris left the ebbing anxiety would return, multiplied tenfold. Yes, it was selfish, but there it was.

“Where are you going for your…”

_Procedure._

Josh hated medical jargon: nice tidy labels to make neat little statements about real things that sometimes couldn’t be summed up that easily, or be ticked in a pre-printed checkbox.

“…thing?” He asked, hoping he sounded just casual enough to not upset the other teen as he tapped his temple, beside his eye.

Between the last few bites of his own readily demolished plateful, Chris gave a shrug which spoke more of nonchalance than the quiet, unsettling sensations he’d tried not to show the full extent of when they were in the kitchen together. Perhaps it was out of consideration for just how healing getting Josh to this level of contentment could be, or maybe the mere act of him knowing had been just that calming to Chris, but he spoke without visible signs of distress. As if it was a splinter, or some other such triviality that he was going in to have looked at. 

“Just the local. They’re bringing in an, uh---eye doctor?” He’d been sat down with his parents in a sterile looking office dotted with just enough decor to make it look like it was actually in use. A whole load of terms which were decidedly less than layman had been batted to and fro right over his head between the specialist in charge of his case, and his parents. In the end it amounted to only a couple of important points - without this treatment his chances of maintaining even his current (and pretty shoddy) levels of eyesight were looking increasingly less likely, and that the other symptoms - the ones which kept him chugging pain killers, and sitting out during climbing class - would only get worse as time meandered onwards. 

That had been enough to convince him, and his parents that it was a risk - both financially, and physically - which was worth taking. 

The plates and other debris from their meal was returned to the tray where it now sat upon the floor beside them. Washing it all up could wait. Especially when Josh looked lost somewhere between agitation, concern, and utter exhaustion. 

“They said I’ll be out in a month, maybe? Sam’s already planning like a million fruit baskets so I don’t get super chubby lying around all day.” His laughter was a little canned, but well-meaning all the same. 

Josh nodded and listened, making an effort to register every word. He fell into thought for a long moment. 

"It's gonna be weird being the one in class without you for a change."

That was a massive understatement, the enormity of it only hitting him once he'd said it aloud. Josh was used to being the one playing catch up and watching things unfold from the outside. But Chris was always there. He was a big, bright tower of energy, and the idea of that light going out - if only for a little while - was almost unthinkable. Without Chris at school, things would be more than weird.

The switch in their circumstances was unsettling, edging dangerously towards something sharper that Josh didn't want to feel. But Chris didn't need to know that.

"You know I'll come see you, right?" He said quietly. "When I'm..."

He'd had it drilled into him at a young age that he would not 'get better' or 'be cured'. The treatment wasn't aiming for him to reach that impossible goal. Instead they would 'manage' it with behavioural therapy and coping mechanisms and all the other treatments that they could find a neat term for.

"When I'm up and about." Smiling weakly, he added, "Or we can be two bedridden invalids together."

“Or you could just come share my bed, heh.” The blonde’s eyes were fixed upon the lurid images skittering across the huge flat-screen - colours and hazy shapes reflected in the lenses of his glasses as they passed by. 

Time spent recuperating after surgery didn’t exactly fill Chris with delight either. The first words out of his mouth after hearing that he’d be laid up for almost five weeks at the most were to ask if he’d be allowed to bring his cell phone and laptop, and what the hospital’s Wi-Fi network was like for downloads. To his great dismay it was going to be basic cable, and whatever magazines his friends brought him instead. 

Sam had, in her usual thoughtful manner asked him for a list of anything he thought he might suddenly be in dire need of entertainment wise during his recovery period. It’d mostly consisted of sugary snacks, tech magazines, and demands for her to sneak in some form of mobile Wi-Fi so he could get a much needed hit of social media. 

The only upside in his opinion was that he could definitely use optical trauma (a wonderful mask for laziness), to avoid doing a jot of homework for the entire time he was stuck in there. Even if Sam or Ashley brought his assignments in for him, stubborn in their desires not to see him fall behind, he was planning on giving an Oscar worthy performance to get out of them. 

"Yeah..."

Leaning back on the couch, he watched Chris calmly getting on with it, his attention returned to the movie. But Josh knew from experience what acting stoic looked like, from those times long ago when such an act had actually been convincing to Chris. They looked exactly like this. His stomach squirmed uncomfortably, but it was barely perceptible, just a shadow of any real feeling. A hot meal – the first in days – and the meds were seeing to that.

Stretching out his arms, Josh yawned. It felt like his whole back was clicking out of the stiff rigor that had settled on it, his shoulder blades parting with a pleasurable sensation that closed his eyes for him. He sighed warmly. It wasn’t even that late, as far as he could tell.  
The minutes ticked on and it wasn’t long before that blank feeling began to return, settling over him as surely as the blanket wrapped about him. The worry lurking on the periphery was still there, but kept at bay for now, no longer cold and close.

“It all works itself out.” he mumbled, eyes still closed, “I’ll be back. You’ll be back.”

It _had_ to work out.

“You know… we know that.”

He was vaguely aware that he wasn’t making complete sense, but wasn’t quite sure what he could do about that. He frowned, eyes barely open, “I mean…” Chest shaking gently with silent mirth, he gave up, “I don’t know, bro. I’m… yeah.”

“Sentences, J, sentences.” The tease was soft, delivered in such a tone that it was obvious Chris was more interested in making sure Josh got some rest, as opposed to getting anything more coherent than the odd, aimless mumble of out him. His hands moved in a similar fashion, drawing back the cocoon he’d created just enough to settle down with an arm strung loose, and supportive around the brunette’s shoulders as they both lay back against a mound of cushions. 

Somewhere in the mess of wool he unearthed the remote, and used it to further lower the volume upon the oversized set to that of a faint lull. Just enough to remind his own mildly sleepy self that it was on, but not enough to disturb Josh should he want to just give himself up to his rather blatant exhaustion. 

Hannah and Beth would no doubt find them in the same position upon their return; the curve of Chris’ larger body providing a perfect resting place for his best friend where it was further protecting him from catching yet another chill. It wasn’t the first time they’d passed out together on this exact same sofa, and it surely wouldn’t be the last either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the first RP log we did, actually written before the first chapter of 'Updraft'. As usual, I wrote Josh and my partner wrote Chris.
> 
> Tumblr: @messofcurls-creative

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: [@messofcurls-creative](https://messofcurls-creative.tumblr.com/)


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